King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  Ashamed, Trevn readily agreed. He told Mielle he would speak with her later that day, bid her farewell, and broke their connection. Doing so left a void that filled him with panic and a dull ache. He reminded himself that it was only the soul-binding magic, but his thoughts continued to plague him with fear.

  As he learned to set snares, he ignored the throbbing and fought the temptation to reach out to Mielle again. It was enough to know she was alive and well. Soon enough he would make plans to find her and bring her home.

  After setting several dozen snares, they came upon an icy creek running alongside a marsh. Maleen stopped and hacked through the ice with an axe, then pulled up cattail roots. He also cut the tops off a leafy green plant that had been floating on the surface of the water. Trevn put the cattail roots and greens into fresh muslin sacks. Maleen then foraged several tiny brown lobsters and mussels from the icy water. Trevn, Cadoc, and Captain Veralla removed their gloves to help, and before long they had enough for several pots of chowder.

  The fingers on Trevn’s right hand had never healed fully after the shrine fell on them. The skin had turned permanently black—black like coal compared to his brown skin. At the moment, the rest of his fingers were bright pink and stinging from the frigid water.

  Trevn pulled his gloves back on, and they followed the stream south. Halfway back something else caught Maleen’s eye. He waded into the creek toward a cliff of dirt and what seemed to be piles of bark clinging to the soil.

  Trevn followed and ripped away a piece of bark. It felt like dried paper pulp—like a beehive—though it was massive. A cocoon big enough to hold a grown man.

  “What do you think lives in that?” Cadoc asked.

  “Not sure I want to know,” Trevn said, slogging to the shore, suddenly eager to get out of the water.

  Once they had returned to camp, Captain Veralla took Maleen and the foraged food to the kitchen tent while Trevn changed into dry clothes and went to see Wilek. His brother was delighted to hear the news of Mielle and the missing ships, and even more intrigued by what Trevn had learned about their new magic.

  “I could set out tomorrow to look for Mielle.”

  “No,” Wilek said. “You must wait. At least until the snow melts.”

  Rage flashed over Trevn that his brother would deny him this. “But the snow may never melt. And what about the ice around their ships? They could die stranded out there.”

  “King Loran assures me the snow is melting already. He believes we are about to enter the season of spring. I’m sure the ice will release them soon enough.”

  “I need my wife, Wil. The soul-binding . . . Please.”

  Wilek gave Trevn that look—the one that meant he felt sorry for him. “I can’t, brother. Not now.”

  “But—”

  Wilek held up a hand. “Continue to speak with her. Gather clues to her whereabouts. Speak to Captain Stockton if you are able. Once you can give me something definite as to their location, I will consider letting you put together a rescue party. But if she is on another continent . . . Well, if that is the case, we will deal with that then.”

  That night, after eating Maleen’s mussel stew and bread made from cattail flour, Trevn lay in his tent and talked to Mielle for several hours, gathering clues to her location. She’d yet to give him much of anything he could use to find her, which frustrated him greatly. He told her what he’d learned about the new mind-speak magic and asked her to prepare Captain Stockton to hear his voice tomorrow. She agreed, then began to talk about the clothing she and Cadoc’s mother were sewing for orphans.

  The weight of the day settled on Trevn, and his eyes grew heavy. He found himself lulled by Mielle’s voice, and suddenly, as if dreaming, he was her. She got up from her bedroll and lifted a lantern from a hook on the wall. She set it on a desk and admired an array of children’s clothing. She ran her hand over the items, then sat in a chair at the desk, took up a half-sewn garment and a needle, and began stitching, humming softly.

  As she set about fitting the sleeve, she pushed the needle too far. Pain shot through her index finger and she jumped.

  Trevn jolted awake, his own finger pulsing with pain. “Mielle!” He sat up and found himself still looking out from her eyes.

  “Trevn?” she answered. “Is everything okay?”

  “I dreamt I was you,” he said. “You were sewing, and when you stabbed yourself with a needle, I felt it. Even now I can see through your eyes.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Another trick of this new magic, I suppose.” An idea came to him. “Go topside,” he said. “Go and look at the stars so I can see them for myself.”

  He felt the hope surge within her chest as she ran from the cabin and up the stairs. When she stepped out onto the main deck, the night air was cool and she shivered. Bare feet took three steps over icy wood to the railing. Though it was dark, Trevn could make out what looked like a barren plain of ice.

  “Look up, Mouse,” he said. “Let me see the stars.”

  She tipped her head back, blinked. Breath clouded from her lips.

  The stars were bright in the black sky, the moon a mere sliver. He instantly recognized the trio of pole stars and the constellation that Master Granlee had named Athos’s Scales.

  Trevn needed to look at his own sky.

  He leapt from his bed and ran into the tent wall, shaking the entire structure. His connection with Mielle broke, and he found his eyes focusing on the interior of his own tent.

  Perhaps it was not wise to try to walk whilst he was looking out someone else’s eyes.

  He carefully exited his tent and nearly ran into Cadoc, who had drawn his sword.

  “I heard a noise inside, Your Highness. Are you well?”

  “Perfectly.” Staring up into the cloudy night sky, Trevn asked his shield, “Where is the moon?”

  “I last saw it over there.” Cadoc pointed.

  Trevn recalled Mielle’s view of the night sky and tried to position himself in a similar fashion. Though it was cloudy, he was able to locate part of the Scales and the lowest two stars in the trio. His view looked nearly the same as Mielle’s, which didn’t mean a whole lot. She could still be leagues away, but it gave him hope.

  “Mielle, when you prepare Captain Stockton for my communication tomorrow, tell him I will also need his assistance in taking some sightings with his cross-staff.”

  “A what?”

  “It is a tool used in celestial navigation. If Captain Stockton can determine your latitude, then I will have an idea of where you are in comparison to me.”

  He felt her heart leap with joy. “You could learn that by looking at the stars?”

  “It works on sea. It should do the same on land.”

  “Your Highness.” Cadoc’s voice pulled Trevn away from the stars. His shield was staring at him, brows heavy with concern. He nodded slightly beyond Trevn, who followed the motion and took note of the audience that had gathered outside several tents. Hrettah and Rashah, their ladies and maids, a dozen or so guards, and much of the kitchen staff.

  “Tomorrow night I will pinpoint Miss Mielle’s location,” he told them, smiling.

  No one smiled in return.

  Encouraged by his new mind-speaking discoveries, Trevn continued experimenting the next morning as they set out on a longer hunting expedition. While listening in on Maleen’s thoughts told him nothing, he did get a sense of the man’s mood, which was weary and sad. Curious, Trevn attempted to sense the mood of each man around him and became thrilled when he found he could sense distinct emotions from each. Cadoc felt apprehensive. Ottee joyful. Captain Veralla thankful. One of the soldier’s straps broke on the pack he was carrying, and Trevn was quick to sense the man’s frustration. And once Ottee began hinting that he was hungry, his mood became wistful and dissatisfied.

  They checked the snares they had set the previous day and found they had caught several rabbits, which were as big as cats. They reset the snares and continued on, fo
llowing the creek north.

  “Trevn? My son? Can you hear me?”

  Mother. Trevn hadn’t seen the woman since her trial on Bakurah Island.

  “Sâr Wilek tells me you have the voices,” Mother said. “I’ve heard rumor that you married Miss Mielle in secret. If you can hear me, answer.”

  He did not want his mother to have the ability to speak to him at any time of any day. He had always been able to hide from her before, but if he answered, he was nearly certain she would never leave him alone. And he certainly didn’t want to hear her opinion about his marrying Mielle.

  So he ignored her. For now. Once he learned more about how this magic worked, perhaps he would speak to her. Just . . . not yet.

  As the morning passed by, Trevn continued experimenting. With a quick warning to Cadoc, he tried speaking to the man’s mind and was shocked when Cadoc answered. His shield had no royal blood and no soul-binding connection, so how could he use the voices?

  Trevn and Cadoc had several voiced conversations, and it wasn’t long before Trevn realized the power was all his own. He could listen to Cadoc’s mind, speak to him, and Cadoc could think answers, but his shield had no ability to initiate conversations.

  Arman’s voicing magic held so many more possibilities than Trevn had originally thought. What else might he discover?

  When Mielle told Trevn that Captain Stockton was prepared to hear from him, no matter how hard Trevn attempted to voice with the man, he could not hear the captain’s thoughts and received no answer. When Trevn asked Mielle about it, she said that the captain had heard nothing.

  How vexing. There must be some limitation to this magic that Trevn did not understand. To be fair, he did not know Captain Stockton well—could barely recall what the man looked like. Perhaps familiarity had something to do with the ability to communicate.

  Following this hunch, Trevn spent the rest of the morning trying to hear the thoughts of those he barely knew. He succeeded with the soldiers around him, but when he focused on some of the servants back at camp, he failed. An unfortunate discovery, but understanding the magic better pleased him nonetheless.

  When they stopped for lunch, Trevn talked again with Mielle, whose distress filled him with foreboding.

  “What is wrong?” he asked.

  “Captain Stockton asked me to give you a message. He says that the creaking and groaning of the ship is because the ice floes are breaking it up. Apparently there have been some leaks in the hold. He has kept this from the passengers so as not to alarm us, but now he says the end of the ship is at hand and we must take our chances walking over the ice to shore. We leave at dawn.”

  Trevn knew little to nothing about ice, but such a thing seemed impossible. “Is the captain too busy to attempt a conversation? Perhaps you could mediate?”

  Mielle agreed, and Trevn learned all he could about the impending disaster. Three of the four ships caught in ice were starting to break up, and the captains had decided to move the crew and passengers to land while they still had opportunity.

  Captain Stockton promised to take sightings so that Trevn could try to ascertain their position compared to his. Then he helped Trevn with another idea. With Mielle acting as translator, they walked each other through the process of making a sun clock, each building one as they talked. When both were complete, Trevn measured the angle of the sun’s elevation and wrote down Captain Stockton’s figure. These two measurements gave him enough information that, combined with Pollon’s calculation of the earth’s circumference, he was able to figure the distance between himself and the Rafayah.

  The result so thrilled him that he did his math one more time, and only when he confirmed that his number matched Captain Stockton’s calculation did he give Mielle the news. “You are just over sixty leagues away.”

  “That’s all?” Mielle asked.

  “Unless Pollon’s teachings are terribly skewed, which I don’t believe them to be. If I left now on horseback and there were no obstacles between us, I could reach you in six or seven days. Except I don’t know which direction to go. You’re west of here, that much is clear from your description of the coast, but I’ll need Captain Stockton’s sightings to figure your latitude. Tell him I want them the moment he wakes tomorrow. Still . . . Arman be praised, we will be together soon, Mouse.”

  Trevn woke the next morning and instantly reached out for Mielle, eager for news from his wife.

  “Mielle, did you reach land?”

  “We did. And the ice did not crack even once. Captain Stockton says the ice here is as thick as a child is tall. We have set up camp on the shore. It is still very cold.”

  “I am relieved to know you are safe,” Trevn said. “Did Captain Stockton give you his sightings?”

  “He did two, just as you asked,” she said. “One of the sun at midday yesterday and the other of the top star of the trio last midnight.” She gave him the information, and he passed along his sightings from last night for her to give Captain Stockton. Then he compared the measurements. It took Trevn a while to work through the numbers, but he finally decreed that Mielle’s latitude was above theirs, to the north northwest.

  Still about sixty leagues away. Praise Arman!

  They packed up camp and continued on. That midday they came upon a great lake surrounded by snow-covered trees. The water was a crystalline blue, the color of Miss Onika’s eyes. A large island sat near the shore on the northern end of the lake. Almost without thinking, Trevn could envision the island as a keep and hold for their new home.

  “We should build there,” he whispered, almost to himself, though Captain Veralla nodded. “A new Castle Everton.”

  “A fine idea, Your Highness. The water would make a nice barrier against enemies.”

  They had no boats to reach the island, so they continued around the northern edge of the lake, camped on the shore, and the next morning turned south along a worn trail. It made Trevn nervous, using these trails. Where were the natives? And how would they respond when they finally came face-to-face with a new people?

  “Trevn,” Wilek said to his mind. “Do you hear me?”

  “Good morning, brother,” Trevn said. “I have thought more on my plan to rescue Mielle and believe a sea voyage might be—”

  “Our father is dead.”

  A pang of hair-raising terror shot through Trevn, and he stopped on the trail. “A moment!” he yelled, and Ottee ran up the line to make sure those in front had heard the halt.

  “What happened?” Trevn asked Wilek.

  “Schwyl found him just after dawn,” Wilek said, sounding weary. “He died in his sleep. A peaceful death the man did not deserve, in my opinion, but Arman’s mercy is his own business.”

  Trevn reached out for his father’s mind and found nothing. “What shall I do?”

  “Come back. We must have the shipping ceremony as soon as possible.”

  “I will return at once,” Trevn said, “and do whatever I can to ease the burden.” Then he added, “Wil, I’m sorry.”

  Wilek laughed wryly. “I’ve been doing the job for months now, brother. Nothing much will change.”

  But it would. Everything would be different. Second Arm would become the first, which meant even more responsibility than ever for Trevn. And Wilek would be king.

  Trevn ended the conversation and refocused on his surroundings. The procession had scattered somewhat. Some soldiers explored the woods just off the path, while others stood in groups, talking and laughing.

  “What is it?” Cadoc asked. Captain Veralla and Ottee also stood by, waiting to hear.

  “The king is dead,” Trevn said softly.

  Three sets of eyes went very wide.

  Before another word was said, a commotion at the front of the line caught Trevn’s attention. He pushed through the crowd to see what was happening. A group of soldiers had circled the remains of a campfire. Bones littered the snowy ground around it. Deer bones, it looked like.

  “They’re fake,” one of the s
oldiers said.

  “Why would someone make fake footprints?” another replied.

  “What’s fake?” Trevn asked.

  The soldiers stopped arguing and bowed.

  Their manners annoyed Trevn, who only wanted to see what had them so rattled so he could call everyone to attention and announce his father’s death. “Show me,” he said.

  “There.” The first soldier pointed to the ground on the other side of the stone circle. Trevn crouched in the snow and examined what appeared to be human footprints. The problem was, they were twice as long as any grown man’s foot.

  “They look real to me,” Captain Veralla said from Trevn’s side.

  Trevn glanced up. “It appears that the natives are big men, Captain.”

  “Very big, Your Highness,” Captain Veralla replied. “I hope they are peaceful.”

  Grayson

  Don’t tell anyone I told you,” a girl said, “but he said he talks to her. Says she’s alive.”

  “That’s so sad,” a second girl said.

  From some other place a gruff voice demanded, “Bring me another platter of sausage rolls.”

  A moment of silence teased Grayson that the voices might go quiet, and then: “You can scarcely expect me to pay attention to every word you say,” a different man said. “You prattle on endlessly. No man could do better than I do.”

  From farther away a woman said, “He could have saved him and didn’t. For that I can never forgive him, but undermining him will not be easy.”

  And then from much closer: “You don’t talk to me,” a boy said. “Be quiet, be quiet.”

  Grayson agreed with the boy. The voices had started the night before Randmuir’s men had sighted land. He had no way of silencing them and ignored them as best he could. Was he going crazy? Did that happen to people as young as him?